You would tell me that Humpty Dumpty was well put together
if only you'd see the pieces of my life torn apart, hanging by a thin tether;

and you'd think to yourself that the Mad Hatter was very much sane,
if only you'd see the dark crevices and lunacy within my own brain.

This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,

                                Such knowledge should be reserved
                                For the minds of critics, and
                                Professors in dusty halls

                                                          ­­           Of universities, where
                                                           ­          They are dissected and re-
                                                             ­        Constructed against their will.

Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.

                            Even the saddest songs, and
                            Most bitter lines, are fueled
                            By what we once loved. Loss is

                                                            J­­ust a love that has been lost
                                                            ­­And anger; a love scorned. All
                                                            y­­our words will be born this way.

Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,

                             Be it an old desk in a
                             Darkened room, or a field of
                             tall Sunflowers or bluebells,

                                                     ­ ­       Or the last place you saw a
                                                             Loved one, before fate swept them
                                                            ­­ Away to distant valleys.

Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must

                              Be written here. There is no
                              Room for flowery words that
                              Must be thought over to much.

                                                          ­­   If it is true it will be
                                                             Beautiful, and your pen strokes
                                                         ­    Will guide you towards greatness.

Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved

                                 Of possesions, or mighty
                                 Of weapons, or a  child's hand.
                                 I cannot tell you which

                                                          ­­ But you will undoubtedly
                                                     ­      Know which when the time comes. It
                                                           Will strike you as obvious.

Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there

                                Is no turning back. It will
                                Consume you, and thoughts will take
                                You by surprise in lover's

                                                        ­­  Embraces, in sudden deaths,
                                                         ­ Bird songs, and the words of of those
                                                          Y­­ou once thought to be strangers.

Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.

                                        Use your power wisely.
                                        Remember; without love
                                        Your poems will start to

                                                             ­        Fall into disrepair
                                                       ­              And, without them you will
                                                            ­­         Lose your capacity to care.

I wish you well.
                                    I wish you poetry.
                                                         ­      ­           I wish you love.

Love
It's good for the soul
But not always safe
Then again, what is?

'If I were a woman, I would've kissed you.
And inhale your soul.
But I am only a girl. And I can't grow up.'

There's nothing quite like
Being appreciated
For something that you've done,
When your own words strike
You as overrated,
Childlike and dumb.

someday
when i've left this realm
and come back back again
i want to be a tree

you think i jest

but my goal has always been
to stand taller and be more honest
and what could possibly
be more honest
than a cedar
standing tall through all the seasons

his bark is peeling
and his green is prickly
but the birds all light
in the tallest branches
and sing sweet tunes

his roots run deep
and his arms reach wide
i used to think i wanted wings
so i could fly toward heaven
but maybe i'd rather be a tree

I broke my heart into pieces today-
It scattered all over the floor,
My friends stood and stared at me blankly,
And said "what are you doing that for?"

I broke my heart into pieces today-
It seemed like the right thing to do,
I figure now they can cover more distance,
And hope one of those pieces finds you.

I left bits on the train in the subway,
And some beneath shady old trees,
A few dozen in pages of favourite books,
And let a few drift on a breeze.

Yes, I broke my heart into pieces today,
As people gave dumbfounded stares,
I tried to explain to them calmly;
A broken heart's one that still cares,

So I broke my heart into pieces today,
To stop it going withered and black,
Hoping maybe one finds the right person,
Who is capable of loving it back.

I left one of them in this poem,
If you find it, dear reader, take care!
It is capable of loving you fully,
Though it's barely a wisp in the air.

Do not trust boys
who kiss you in your drive way.
If they can't make it to the front door
there must be something wrong.

I have had many first kisses in my driveway
and every boy that has given me one
has turned out sour.
Do not trust boys who kiss you in your drive way.

If they are too lazy to walk the extra ten feet to your front door
then they are most likely too lazy to walk
the extra mile in a relationship.
Effort is key my friend.

I cannot bare to stand in my driveway.
Memories come flooding in
from this boy and that.
Do not trust boys that kiss you in your driveway.
Trust me on that.